


Midnight Sun

by roxymissrose



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-11
Updated: 2011-06-11
Packaged: 2017-10-20 08:19:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxymissrose/pseuds/roxymissrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark and Lex together, and all it took was the end of the world</p><p>originally posted 02-23-2009 as part of Danceswithgary's <a href="http://enter-tzone.dreamwidth.org/">Twisting the Twilight Zone</a> challenge</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Sun

The sun is a hot white eye in a sapphire sky, burning low over the buildings....

Lex is sweating, has been sweating since four o'clock in the morning because it's been hot since four…hot twenty four hours a day, every day. Endless day without night.

Lex is drinking a glass of warm scotch and imagining that it has cubes of cold, cold ice floating in it, that cool drops of condensation run over his hand and cool his wrist, that ice clicks and clinks in the gold liquid and the only burn is alcohol. That the ice doesn't melt the moment it's out of the freezer. Lex laughs and tosses the drink down and fixes another.

It's twelve midnight and Lex is on the patio, under an umbrella, under the awning, slathered with sunscreen and burning bright red. He likes applying the sunscreen; it gives him the urge to laugh. The sun is a white hot scream from heaven. He wonders if anyone else is alive in the city. He hasn't seen anyone or heard anything and so he assumes everyone is dead. Or gone. Smart people left the city as soon as they could. Lex laughs. He's certainly smart, but he sometimes…lacks necessary logic. Than again, did it matter where he died? Whether here in Metropolis, in the Luthor Empire flagship, or on the road to a too distant beach, a beach n o doubt clogged with corpses even if it was reachable--death was a question of when, not if, and certainly not where.  


  
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Every morning Lex rose and showered.

  
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He watches the eye grow larger and larger, and tries to feel something about that. He's sipping lukewarm water because being drunk doesn't change anything and doesn't make it better.

"I spared you this, Dad. Aren't you glad that you aren't here to roast in your meager fat under the sun? Burning alive…if I believed in God and retribution, I'd have to believe you're burning now. Maybe this is hell, my hell. Maybe I will have the rest of that scotch."

  
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Every morning Lex rose and showered, and ate enough to stop his stomach from screaming at him.

  
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He is waiting for the day when everything finally bursts into flames. How long can it take? On the horizon a flash across the eye reminds him of airplanes and that reminds him of people, so he takes the rest of the afternoon to wallow in self-pity. At least his bastard evil father hadn't been alone when he died….

  
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Every morning Lex rose and showered, and ate enough to stop his stomach from screaming at him, and bounced a full bottle of valium in his hand, and took a few minutes to decide. One or twenty?

  
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He smiles. Today is a one tablet day. He stares at the white hot circle through the layers of grey gauze shrouding the window, feels the gauze shirt he wears soak up the sweat under his arms and down his back. The back of his jeans are wet, sweat collects at the base of his spine, behind his knees, in the crease of his neck. He knows he need more water but he just doesn't care anymore.

  
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Every morning Lex rose, and showered, and ate enough to stop his stomach from screaming at him, and bounced a full bottle of valium in his hand, and took a few minutes to decide. One or twenty, and should he wash them down with scotch or vodka or just step through the window and over the balcony?

  
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He's spread out on the floor; the room is swooping and swirling around him. This morning he's decided on scotch and a handful of pills and as soon as he can get up, he'll make…toast.

That thought makes him laugh a long time. He stops laughing when a there's a tap at the window. Silence and he hears the tap again. He bites his tongue to stop a giggle from bubbling out. "Ah…come…in?" crazycrazycrazycrazy…not crazy?

Clark?

Clark is standing in the air outside his window, but he looks…strange. Wet and disheveled and upset. Lex stares at him a long time before speaking. "Cheer up, emo kid," he says, and passes out.

When he wakes up, he's in bed, he's clean but he smells vomit, that faint trace which means the smell is probably just in his nose. Disheveled Clark really is there, sitting in Lex's bedside chair, and Lex decides magnanimously not to tell Clark the chair's just there to facilitate certain sexual acts. Besides, it's been a really, really shitty couple of days and he'll take his amusement where he can, thanks. He opens his eyes wider and just looks. Clark looks like…worse than disheveled, Clark looks like death warmed over. His eyes are red, but not the red of fury (a shade of red Lex knows now like he knows his own face.) It's a sickly, raw, rubbed-in kind of red. A red Lex hasn't seen in…decades.

"I…I couldn't just leave you. You're the last one," Clark says.

Lex thinks about that. The last human on the planet. Just him and the Alien…was that irony? And Clark says, "You're not the last person on the planet. That's not what I meant."

"Well, what did you mean?" Lex is unaccountably annoyed by this information. He kind of wanted the dramatic ending, to be the last man on Earth…besides if he was the last man on Earth, maybe he'd finally get to fuck Clark.

Clark is blushing. Lex sees it and says, "Oh fuck."

Clark nods and smiles a little.

"Sorry, sorry—my internal censor seems to have gone haywire. I didn't mean for you to hear that."

Clark shakes his head. "Don’t worry about it, hardly matters now." Clark comes off the chair and moves to the bed, lays down on it, right next to Lex like they've been doing it for a life-time. "You know, my powers are dying. I doubt I could fly far now. I can't hear, can't see, not in that way I should be able to, you know? I'm turning…" he stops and his forehead wrinkles in thought.

Clark is lying next to him, head nestled on one of Lex's pillows, fingers laced together over his stomach; feet crossed at the ankles and Lex is lost in wonder. Lex replays the last few seconds and realizes what Clark has told him. Oh. "Mortal? One of us? Boots."

"What--boots? Oh." Clark sits up and shoves his boots off, thinks about it, pulls his socks off, too and stuffs them in the boots. Lex thinks Clark's feet are the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. He's shocked that he can even get hard, even a little bit.

Clark looks at Lex, and looks away, the pink on his cheeks reminds Lex of childhood, when they were both so painfully young, and Lex wanted so painfully much…Clark was a beautiful boy and he's a beautiful man, even sweating, wrinkled, and stinking…"Lex, do you mind…" He gestures down the length of his body.

"Clark, whatever you want." Lex knows that sounds weird but Clark nods seriously and. He unzips jeans, and steps out of them and pulls his shirt over his head without unbuttoning it, and he's wearing nothing but worn boxers, soaked through with sweat.

Lex closes his eyes in a brief moment of prayer. Thank you, thank you. He doesn't even need to touch Clark, he's content to look at him.

Though it would be even nicer if he could jerk off while he was doing it.

Clark smiles, sighs, and skins his wet boxers off. Lex is stunned. More than stunned, he's almost afraid. "Clark…"

Clark climbs on the bed, straddles his legs and pulls Lex's wet jeans off, and this time his smile is wide, toothy, and his eyes sparkle and Lex wonders that Clark has any spark left but—Clark rips Lex's shirt in pieces, tearing it likes it's Kleenex.

Lex arches up, and shoots a little precome onto his belly. Clark watches his cock jump, and stokes his own, and it's just as big as Lex always imagined, big, and thick, and Clark's working it like he plans to come on Lex.

Lex is more or less on board with that but first…he rears up and pushes Clark to his back and it's too easy to do. He's paused in shock, feels his face crumble…"Clark, oh God…Clark…"

"Shut up, Lex—just shut up. I don’t want—I came here for---"

Lex nods and sucks Clark's cock into his mouth. Clark didn’t come here out of love—it's sheer desperation, and Lex probably is the last human on earth—at least the last one who knows who Clark is, really is….

 

Clark tastes like nothing Lex can describe—like a dream, like heaven, like ecstasy--"Can you—can you move," Clark asks and pats an area near him and Lex angles so that Clark can pet him as Lex blows him. Clark strokes Lex's skin and moans, works his thick fingers between Lex's cheeks and fingers him, slips fingers in and out of him.

Lex thinks, this is lovely…this is hot, and getting hotter. Clark arches up, and the movement drives his fingers deep into Lex, and Lex--comes from the sheer amazement of this, with Clark, his mouth full of Clark, and his ass and his heart—he pulls off gasping. "Clark, Clark…" he works his hand over Clark's cock for a few seconds longer. "God, hot."

Sweat is pouring off of him; he's dizzy from forgetting to breathe, from the heat. The heat….

The walls are blistering, paint bubbling up and popping. Lex's skin hurts, too tight, too hot. He can hear the windows in the living room exploding.

Clark is staring at him; his eyes are red, swimming. Tears wash his face and dry to salt from one blink to the next and Lex moans, twists—he can't get away from the heat, and Clark sobs once and folds around him. It hurts too much to ask him not to—it's too hot now to hug. He closes his eyes, and it's *so* bright—

  
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Every morning….

  
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"Oh God!" Lex pulls out of Clark's arms, and Clark shivers. It's dark, candles burn on every surface and the fireplace he'd thought was a ridiculous extravagance when they'd bought the apartment, was stuffed with burning…things. Their things….

"Lex, Lex, Lex," Clark is touching him, kissing him, stroking his face and his hands. "You were asleep for so long, I got scared. I thought…I was afraid you'd left me." Already was hanging unspoken in the air.

Clark? Clark, his lover of many years…his husband, his friend, his rock…broken, and worn, and Lex remembered…the earth was spinning away from the sun. There were no yellow rays to bathe him, to heal him. The world was dropping into an eternal night, alone. Snow beat against the windows, piled higher and higher in the streets, burying everything, burying the world, and all they had left was each other.

"I don’t want to leave you, Clark, I really don't."

"I know you don’t, honey. I know." Clark pulls him close, rests his chin on Lex's head and sighs.

Lex leans gratefully into the ghost of warmth and wonders briefly which world was the dream and which was real. He smiles against Clark's chest. Does it matter? One way or another, he has everything he'd ever wished for under the sun.

FIN


End file.
